


Something Akin to a Second Skin

by Ghostwriter98



Series: A Person Suit Most Well Tailored [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Demon Hannibal Lecter, Demon Mason, Hannibal is not nice yall, Hannibal wants in Will, Horror Elements, Invasion of Privacy, Invasion of mind, M/M, Marking, Medium Bedelia, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Possession, Someone Help Will Graham, The tags are about to get wierd, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98
Summary: Hannibal is very possessive of Will.It might have something to do with the fact that he’s a centuries old demon.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: A Person Suit Most Well Tailored [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143449
Comments: 21
Kudos: 190





	1. Prima Facie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while but it's finally here! The prequel to "Let Me In, My Dear". I wanted to post it for Halloween but life got in the way so happy belated Halloween all!
> 
> I'll sometimes be alternating POV within chapters so I'll put a double space to indicate change in POV while the break remains a jump in time. Because I'm extra, all the chapter titles for this fic will be in Latin. Prima Facie means at first sight.

From a dingy alleyway, Hannibal Lecter crept out of the shadows and into the busy bustle of midday Baltimore. Humans obliviously passed him whilst their dogs cowered and whined worriedly, pawning at their owner’s legs. Hannibal smirked, eyes bleeding black as he adjusted to the daylight and his skin began to itch uncomfortably. It wasn’t painful, per say, it was more of a mild irritation. Demons such as himself were creatures of the dark. Sunlight was too bright and made them, for lack of better word, quite pissy. Hannibal, like most other demons, made a point of avoiding daytime strolls unless it was an absolute necessity.

Today was an absolute necessity. 

A rude businessman shoved past an elderly old woman in front of Hannibal. The demon appraised him for a moment. _Broad shouldered, strong, well suited for the job but_ _no, he wouldn’t do. Much too rude._ Hannibal stopped walking and stared at the steaming cup in the businessman’s hand. It exploded and hot coffee spilled down his pristine suit. There was a gasp of pain. A loud swear. Hannibal titled his head slightly, eyes flashing. The businessman tripped over a fire hydrant and fell directly into the line of traffic. There was a screeching sound as a car attempted to suddenly break and a loud thud as it failed to do so in time. Hannibal smirked, continuing on his merry way. He had no need to be discreet, after all. These paltry humans couldn’t see him unless he chose to reveal himself. Even then, he would only appear as a shadow in their peripheral vision, a flash of a face in the reflection of their mirror or, his personal favorite, a nightmarish creature haunting their dreams. Though Hannibal much preferred frightening them by moving objects or wreaking havoc in their minds, there were times when his tastes became a little more singular. It was all good fun manipulating objects and creating many “tragic accidents” but it could never quite compare to the splendor of murdering a human up close and personal, having them stare into your eyes as the life bled out of them, having them know it was _you_ who did this to them.

Truth be told, Hannibal just wanted to be seen.

Unfortunately, for him to commit that kind of intimate murder, he would have to possess a body. It was a delicate affair. First, Hannibal would need to find a body weak enough that he could infiltrate. The sick, elderly and physically frail were the easier options. However, Hannibal would then have the limitations of having a less durable body to deal with or the frustration of having to keep up appearances of being weak. He couldn’t start sprinting after people in the body of an eighty-year old man, for instance. That left vessels sound of body but not of mind.

He passed a great deal of people, some even fitting his profile, but they didn’t tempt Hannibal, didn’t make him ache to be inside them puppeting their bodies. There would be no fun in snaring them.

Hannibal’s upper lip twitched. He was growing increasingly frustrated. Of course, he made sure to maintain a façade of cool collectiveness. It was important that he was not perceived as weak by any other demons who were looking for a fight. Not that Hannibal wouldn’t annihilate them, he was just rather fond of the suit he was wearing.

Oh, it had been years since his last proper killing spree. Such a shame that Francis Dolarhyde was caught. It had been so amusing creating hallucinations of a dragon controlling his actions and the mirrors Hannibal had left on the corpses were so beautifully _symbolic_. He had outdone himself, really! But he had pushed Dolarhyde too far and he’d self-destructed. He should have left the woman alone, shouldn’t have turned her, shouldn’t have let Dolarhyde see him turn her. All that was left of his beloved vessel now was a building raised to the ground and a pair of dentures. Hannibal would be careful not to do the same a second time. He wanted a vessel, a home, he could return to.

As though his wishes were heard by Satan himself, a crime scene materialized in front of him. Instantly intrigued by the promise of gore and violence that awaited him, Hannibal walked through the yellow police tape. That’s when he saw _him_ with the faint sweet-smelling scent of slowly developing encephalitis pouring off his mind in enticing waves _._ He was not the perpetrator, oh no, yet he was not part of the milling FBI agents. It was clear in the way he stood, a little apart. Curiouser and curioser.

The man, who was not FBI, was standing over a headless corpse slumped against a swing set. He seemed to be ignoring the head which was posed above a slide, eyes and mouth open in a garish smile: the kind of Jacko lantern Hannibal could get behind. The body that was being scrutinized in such detail was also nude. There was scratches and cuts on the skin where the attacker had become a little too rough in the disrobement. Hannibal licked his lips, appetite whetted.

“I know you. Know what you do to young children,” the man spoke, voice devoid of emotion. “I see you lead them away by their hands to the bushes while their parents aren’t looking. I will take away your head, your leering eyes and separate it from your greatest weapon, your body. I will leave you here, the place you love oh so much so everyone will know your secret and they will all be disgusted. I have done society a favour. They will thank me.”

The man’s eyes flickered open after his spiel was finished. A profiler then with such perception, such a knack for the monsters. Hannibal knew in that instant that this man would be the one. This human would bridge the gap between the demonic and the human world for Hannibal. Already he tettered on the bridge of both worlds. He would be the perfect vessel.

The man blinked and groaned loudly, clutching at his forehead.

“Are you okay, Will?” a deep voice demanded.

“Yeah.” His human, who apparently went by the name of Will, smiled weakly. “Nothing but a small headache, Jack. I just need some aspirin.”

Will’s superior clapped him on the back and gave him a nod. Dismissed, he stumbled towards his car, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His back was slouched. The dark circles under his eyes showcased his fatigue to the world. His sickness was heady and hung around him like a cloud. A drug to Hannibal’s senses.

Silently following, Hannibal climbed into the passenger seat of Will’s car, doing a quick assessment. _Around forty, well built, emotionally drained, suffering from sleep deprivation and his brain was burning._ Oh yes, he was magnificent, absolutely perfect for Hannibal’s devious purposes. All Hannibal would have to do is wait until he’d had become a little weaker and the connection between them had formed before striking on his already tattered immune system with a possession. The demon should slide into his vessel quite nicely then. Gently, like a warm bath.

Hannibal settled more comfortably into his seat, content.

Will turned on the ignition and drove home, completely unaware of the uninvited guest in his car.

\----:----

Will fitfully slept, muttering under his breath, his body shaking as sweat beaded on his brow and rolled down his temple. He was suffering tremendously. It was beautiful _._ Hannibal could have stood there all night watching him but there were things that needed to be done. A great many things, in fact, starting with making Will’s body accommodating for Hannibal’s demonic energy. Otherwise, there was a possibility that his body would reject the demon. Just like alcohol, if too much of Hannibal entered Will’s body at a time and his body became aware of the unhealthy intrusion, it would work hard to dispel it. And much like a hangover, the results would not be pretty. However, if Hannibal slowly introduced himself bit by bit through his blood, the vessel’s body wouldn’t notice the initial and slowly increasing amount of demon, allowing Will’s tolerance to build up until he could take Hannibal fully. 

Hannibal crouched down beside Will, waiting until he’d rolled onto his back into the perfect position. Will didn’t disappoint and a moment later he did exactly that. His mouth parted on a snore as more garbled nonsense left his mouth. Hannibal slit his wrist with his claw like fingertips and held his bleeding arm over Will. The blood fell steadily from the wound and landed on Will’s plump pink lips. It looked rather fetching on Will just as he had suspected. Skin made to be painted with blood. Will flinched in his sleep. Hannibal murmured some words under his breath. Instantly, the black essence began to crawl past Will’s lips and into his mouth. Coughing and spluttering, Will writhed around. His hands rose to his face subconsciously, clawing at his neck, trying to expel the thick liquid but the blood had a mind of its own and moved with determination down his throat. Will was gasping heavily now, body spasming as Hannibal’s blood began to enter his body and taint his insides. Work complete, Hannibal leaned back, crossing his legs as he intently watched the suffering man.

Humans had television to entertain themselves. Hannibal had this.

Will screamed, eyes flashing open as he suddenly became very conscious. He ran for the toilet, stumbling blindly in the dark, stubbing his foot in the process and cursing loudly. A terrible sick feeling made him desperately want to vomit. Hannibal’s blood would not allow his feeble human body to reject it though. Instead, the black substance began its reshaping and accommodating. Will toppled over as another wave of agony made his vision whiten. He crawled the rest of the way to the toilet with trembling arms.

“Oh God,” Will gagged, head hanging low as he moaned hoarsely. Will was not a religious man but he would gladly convert to any religion if it meant stopping this hellish pain _. Had he eaten something bad? Was this a terrible case of food poisoning?_ He jerked as his insides began to contract and squeeze. Bile began to rise in his throat and he began to retch but nothing came out. _This must be what dying feels like._ _Like your seams are splitting apart._

Something moved. Will tensed as he felt his stomach. It bulged and compressed. Something had bloody well shifted _inside_ of him. A burning sensation started that engulfed every cell in his body and suddenly his stomach was the least of his concerns. Will could take a lot, had taken a lot, but that was the final straw. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed in a faint.

Hannibal caught Will and then gently lowered him down to the cool tile floor, coddling him in his arms as though he were a precious thing. Feeling rather impressed all the while. Will had maintained consciousness longer than most humans did during their first injection of demon blood. His Will seemed to be full of surprises. Oh yes, he’d chosen wisely. Hannibal’s heart began to race as the first tendrils of excitement began to bloom in his chest. It had been so very long since someone had surprised Hannibal, better yet a human.

Kneeling beside Will’s convulsing body, he pressed his hand against Will’s sweaty forehead and stroked at his hair the way one would a dog that had performed well for its owner.

“Rest now, good Will,” Hannibal purred. “You’ll need your strength.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on the fic? Halloween? Demons in general? Hannibal? A possible title for this series? Drop a comment. I'm in a talkative mood.


	2. In Loco Parentis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title meaning: In place of a parent

_Will Graham is a wreck,_ was Jack Crawford’s first thought when said man stumbled his way into his office.

“Will? Are you feeling alright?” Jack felt he ought to ask though the answer was clear. Damn social niceties. 

Will gave him a half-hearted thumbs up. His fingers shook as he did. His skin was shiny with sweat. There was a deathly pale pallor to his face. That, combined with the dark purple circles under his eyes, gave him a sickly look. His body swayed where he stood, unable to support itself. Simply put, he looked like hell.

Jack gave him a stern look. “Are you high?”

“What?!” Will spluttered angrily, straightening up his posture. “No! Of course not!”

“Are you drunk?”

Will glared at his boss. “No.”

“Are you sure? You do love your whisky.”

 _“Yes._ I mean no, _”_ Will hastily corrected.

“You don’t sound too certain there, Will,” Jack sharply replied.

“I mean yes, I love whisky, but no, I’m not drunk. I don’t drink on the job.”

Jack sighed. “Give me something, Will. You’re obviously not well.”

“Am I ever _well_?” Will snarked.

Jack mulled over this response for several moments and finally relented, “You’re right. But you look worse than usual.”

Will snorted then scrubbed at his face. “I’m fine, Jack.”

“Fine?” Jack raised his voice. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He shook his head. “I can’t have you fainting at a crime scene. We have enough drama out there as it is. Go home, get some rest.”

Will gaped, taking a step towards his boss. “Jack?”

Jack held up his hand. “No, Will. Go home.”

“This is unbelievable,” Will muttered to himself as he stormed out of Jack’s office. He had driven all the way from Wolf trap and for what? To be treated like a child sent home early by the school principal. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake. 

Will blinked and then he was at his car. _What the hell?_ Will looked down at his legs. He hadn’t remembered walking there. The last thing he remembered seeing was Jack’s face. His _concerned_ face. Will scowled, yanking the car door open and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He made sure to slam the door shut extra loudly. _Take that, Jack._ Will tightly gripped his steering wheel and glared out the front of his windscreen. He was just wondering if he should take a swipe at Jack’s car (nothing much, just a scratch) when a flicker of black caught his eye in the rear view mirror. He glanced upwards and saw a silhouetted outline. At first he thought it was a pedestrian but they didn’t move and no matter how hard he squinted, his vision of them didn’t seem to clear. He blinked and found that the shadow was gone. Will startled. He was just tired was all. Tired and missing time and apparently seeing things.

The drive back to his home was a silent one. Will tried to focus on the road but he found his attention kept wavering. He just couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t alone.

After that experience in the car park, Will kept seeing shadows everywhere. The blurry black outlines were constantly in the peripherals of his vision and always present in reflective surfaces like his metal toaster and the mirror _._ Will blamed it on tiredness on good days and hallucinations on bad ones, until the day that he couldn’t brush them off anymore.

The day in question had begun like any other. The only deviation in his morning routine was his attempt at shaving. Will hadn’t shaved in a while and had thought that if he'd cleaned himself up, it might make him look more put together. His face had been covered in shaving cream and the sharp blade of his razor was high on his cheek as he slowly stroked downward. Everything was going good. He had gotten caught up in the routine of it and had felt like normal for a change. Suddenly, a movement in the left corner of the mirror caught his eye. Will instinctively glanced in its direction, expecting a shadow and getting something much more vivid. Will gasped, hand jerking with surprise. His eyes focused on the man reflected back at him. He was tall and broad shouldered and clothed in a black and grey plaid suit with only a blood red tie to break up the colour scheme. His face was sharp and angular in a way that would usually be handsome but in this circumstance seemed to only creepily accentuate the hollowness of his cheekbones and the shadows that bathed them. His blondish brown hair was straight and combed neatly to the side but _his eyes_. Will’s breath hitched in fear as he noticed the defining feature. His eyes were pure black.

The man – _thing_ – blinked up at him in what appeared to be astonishment before vanishing. Will let out a strangled gurgle. His hands shook as he splashed his face with cold water. _Come on. Come on. Wake up._

As the shock dissipated, a throbbing sting made him to realize that he had cut himself. Will put down the razor, partially bloody, and stumbled off in search of some coffee.

When he came back, the razor was clean.

There was also a bottle of antiseptic and a band aid beside the sink.

 _It’s official._ Will thought to himself wildly. _I’m going insane._


	3. Modus Operandi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title meaning: method of operating

Hannibal was a very happy demon indeed. Will’s transformation into a vessel was coming along wonderfully. His reaction to Hannibal’s blood was becoming significantly less violent and repulsive. No longer did his body reject the substance, instead it seemed to crave it. He eagerly devoured every drop and seeked out more in his sleep, letting out irritable noises when the demon deemed him sufficiently full like a disgruntled baby who's not finished nursing. On the days Will lost time, his body taking over, more often than not he returned to his bed and laid-back with his mouth open as if awaiting Hannibal’s blood.

Will actually moaned the last time Hannibal had fed him. It left Hannibal feeling rather flustered. Something that had never happened to him before. Such a strange thing to feel. Will was constantly surprising him. It made Hannibal hungry in ways that he hadn’t been for centuries. He wanted to experiment on his subject to see how he would react. He wanted to push Will to the brink of breaking. He wanted to bury himself inside Will’s mind and body and understand him wholly.

It began to irk Hannibal that this human was having such a distracting effect on his life while Will seemed oblivious to his own existence. Really, it was all rather unfair. That was how Hannibal came to the decision to take things a step further from flickering shadows and the occasional glimpse of his person. A glimpse, he thought proudly, he hadn’t even purposely shown dear Will.

He wanted to truly start terrifying Will with events that couldn’t be rationally explained away. He wanted to be _seen_ by Will for the demon he was.

It was time, as they said often in hell, to turn up the heat.

\----:----

Will sighed, hunched over in his faded armchair. He clutched a glass of whisky in his right hand and the bottle it came from in the other. He grimaced as he chugged down another glass and promptly poured himself some more. His hands shook, sloshing the liquid. He needed to sleep tonight. Even if that meant getting himself black out drunk. Jack refused to let him out onto the field and now the FBI were worrying about whether he was well enough to continue being a forensics lecturer.

Will honestly couldn’t blame them. He had fallen asleep multiple times on his desk in between lectures. His hands trembled as he graded papers and, when left to their own devices, doodled pentagrams into the margins of his student’s assignments. Honestly, it felt like he had an addiction. He constantly had an itch that he needed to scratch; something he craved more than anything yet he had no idea what it was. When he couldn’t get it, he got irritable and short and angry. Safe to say, there was something really fucking wrong with him. Even his dogs could sense it, whining worriedly on the floor and hiding their faces underneath their paws. They refused to sleep with him in his bedroom anymore. It was as if they didn’t even recognize him. Will made a mental note to schedule a doctor’s appointment. He really needed his job at the academy and if the only option left was to dose himself with medication so he could sleep and function, then so be it.

Will was distracted from his morbid musings by a hiss. Then the lights went out, bathing the room in darkness. Loud barking echoed around the house and Winston, who was sitting in a nearby corner, started bristling his fur and growling.

“Hey, it’s okay. Shh. Shh. It’s just a blackout,” Will soothed them and stood up. He fumbled with his phone, using the crappy light from it to look for some candles and a flashlight. He found a yellow battery powered one in a box by the couch just as his phone’s battery died. Weird, he could have sworn it had been on full charge. Ah, well, at least he had the flashlight. He grabbed it. He would have to go outside and check the power box.

The lights flickered back on. Will paused, grip loosening on the flashlight. He slowly put it back down.

A grinding noise and the room became pitch black again. The dogs started to really panic then, rushing around and stumbling into one another, whimpering and whining. At first, Will thought they were trying to find an intruder but after a few more minutes of panting and scrambling on the wooden floorboards, he realized they were trying to _hide._ Goosebumps prickled across Will’s skin. He quickly turned on his flashlight and instantly felt better when he could see again. The flashlight dimmed in his hand.

 _Right._ Will swallowed thickly. _No problem._

He felt around for his emergency candles and, after stubbing his big toe a total of three times, he was able to find a set of matches and light them. He clutched the biggest candle in his hand, brandishing it like a weapon. _Be gone, darkness_ , he thought. He jumped as a rumble of thunder echoed throughout the room _._ It was hot suddenly. So hot sweat beaded on Will's forehead and trickled down. _Unnatural, wrong,_ his mind hissed, but he told himself to, _Calm down. It’s just a blackout. You’re worrying over nothing._ Will took a deep breath and moved towards the door, prepared to find a logical reason for all this. His candle blew out. Will froze _._

 _Probably just the wind. Except,_ a nagging part of his brain supplied, _I’m inside and no windows or doors are open._

A series of coincidences then. Will spun around. The rest of the candles he had placed around the room had also been blown out. No, this was too orderly to be a coincidence. Will didn’t know what the worse reason would be for the candles distinguishing: that he was losing time again and doing this to himself or that someone else was blowing out the candles behind his back. Fear crawled its way down Will’s spine. His heart began to race in his chest. _Something isn’t right and it’s not me this time_. Will blindly stumbled back to his kitchen table and felt around for his matches. He could have sworn he had left them there. There was nothing _._ He groped along the entire surface of the table and bent down, getting on his hands and knees on the floor. His hands searching and searching but never finding that familiar rectangular box.

A creak. Will jerked wildly, banging his head on his table. _Fuck._

 _It’s nothing. Stop being so paranoid,_ he told himself as he rubbed at his forehead and tried to shake off the feeling of wrong and otherness filling him. 

Will blinked as the room was suddenly bathed in light for a few precious seconds. The matches were nowhere in sight.

The floorboards moaned again. This time accompanied by the distinct sound of footsteps. Clever of a house intruder to cut the power like that. Will relaxed a margin. Just a house intruder. He pulled himself to his feet. He was being so foolish right now. He had been to crime scenes that would make seasoned cops hurl up their breakfast. He had been inside killer’s heads and seen the worst of humanity. He knew when and how to kill, both as a cop and as a bad guy. He could handle a house intruder. It was them that should be afraid, not him. 

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Will shouted, his voice steely now.

He found his kitchen counter and felt for the wooden block that encased his collection of kitchen knives, unsheathing the largest one. Will held the weapon out in front of him, poised and ready.

“I work for the FBI. I know how to defend myself,” he warned.

Another groan as the wood creaked with the weight of someone. This time it was closer, directly beside him. Will attacked without thought, thrusting the knife into his attacker’s direction.

Will’s hand trembled as he held still. There was no sound of pain yet his knife seemed to have encountered some strange object. It vibrated in his hand, sending shock waves down his arm. A tactile hallucination? He’d never had one of those before, but what else could this be?

Hannibal felt a strange tingling sensation. He glanced down (he could see in the dark, perk of being a creature of darkness) and noticed a sharp knife buried into his chest. His head tilted to the side. How curious. Will had once again surpassed his expectations. Instead of running to his room and cowering underneath the covers or attempting to call the police, the man had adapted to the situation. He had chosen fight over flight. Hannibal couldn’t help but admire the quickness Will had wielded the knife, his lack of hesitation when stabbing it in his direction _._ He would make an excellent demon. Unfortunately, Hannibal had no desire to convert Will into such and even if he did, it would have been exhausting with the amount of virginal sacrifices and energy it would have taken.

Hannibal stepped back and brushed an experimental hand down Will’s spine. Will shuddered. It was unbelievable. Their connection was growing rapidly. It usually took weeks after injecting demon blood into their human bodies for his vessels to begin sensing him physically. Hannibal had been in Will’s house for merely five days and already he was responding to his touch. Hannibal’s mind flashed back to two days ago when Will had seen his true form in the reflection of his mirror. He hadn’t even been purposely showing his face. The man had seemed to see right through his glamour after only four days of the demon’s ministrations. Whether it was the encephalitis softening Will’s mind, allowing him to see past the bounds of reality most humans were shackled by, or whether it was a side effect of Will’s empathy to see through every being, even those hidden from him, Hannibal did not know. All he knew was that the human was gifted and that he was his. The thought made him giddy. _Mine. All mine._

Hannibal flung his hand sideways. The knife launched itself out of Will’s hand and into the direction of the wall. There it remained lodged, suspended in the plaster. Hannibal turned the lights back on so he could see Will’s reaction to what he had done. Will's eyes glossed over Hannibal, unseeing. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he observed the scene (a knife in the wall, no culprit in sight) but he otherwise remained silent. No loud sobbing, no wailing for help, just beautiful, blissful silence.

 _Brave Will._ Hannibal thought to himself curiously _. I wonder what it will take to truly frighten you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we meet a familiar face from the show... Any guesses who?


	4. Mea Culpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title meaning: My fault

Will lay impatiently in the MRI. It was strange knowing that this white buzzing machine was going to change everything. It would dictate whether he was psychologically unwell or suffering from something neurological. Will fretted, discovering that he had a brain tumor or finding out that his strange hallucinations were a product of his unstable mind were all equally bad outcomes and one of them would be the outcome. He closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else. Taking a deep breath, he waded into the quiet of his stream.

The doctor met him an hour later. Will’s palms were sweaty with nerves.

“The brain scans came up clear. There is nothing neurologically the matter with you, Mr Graham,” Dr. Sutcliffe calmly spoke in a clinical, detached tone.

“I’m telling you there is!” Will argued hotly. “Look again.”

“It might be time that you consider it might be something,” the doctor paused, looking for the right word, “mental.”

Will swallowed, feeling immensely disappointed as he grabbed his bag. If it had been a neurological problem then at least Will would have had ways to deal with it; surgery he could have and a diagnosis and a treatment plan. Now, he was back to square one. He’d have to see a psychiatrist. An image of Frederick Chilton, haughty in a suit jacket, popped into Will’s head. Hell no. He’d rather go insane.

“I have a few professional psychiatrists I could recommend for—” Dr. Sutcliffe was cut off by the slamming of his office door.

Dr. Sutcliffe huffed and stared down at the scans in his hands. He blinked. They were gone. Will’s healthy brain scans. He had them a moment ago. In their place were two blank A4 pieces of paper.

Dr. Sutcliffe rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps it was time he too had an MRI. 

\----:----

Hannibal loathed favoritism. He found it a distasteful habit partaken by those beneath him. Once you had a favourite vessel, no other vessel would ever compare. You destroy part of the joy of possession by always having it tainted with memories of a better experience. However, he simply couldn’t help himself when it came to Will with his refreshing unpredictability and that uncanny ability of his to adapt so beautifully to whatever obstacles Hannibal threw his way. Will Graham was quite literally made for him. How could he not view him in a better light than those ordinary, subpar vessels who had come before him? Realizing this had made him protective over Will and so when another demon started sniffing around his vessel, something had to be done.

Hannibal first noticed something was off with Will’s scent after Will had been preoccupied all day at a crime scene involving a man’s vocal cords being played like a violin. There was something strange, muskier than the usual sweet smell of encephalitis and the strong overwhelming sent of Will’s aftershave, and it wasn’t the solution used to treat the cords. It was distinctive. Sulfur. Before Hannibal, the story unraveled. A demon must have been intrigued by the gruesome display in the auditorium and had taken a closer look. They must have noticed Will, much in the same way Hannibal had. His vessel had a way of commanding demon attention.

Hannibal had shared vessels before with other demons and had a particularly fond memory of sharing Garrett Jacob Hobbs with some others of his kind. Together, they had created The Minnesota Shrike and baffled policemen for months. Hannibal shook his head. There would be no sharing, not this time. Not with Will. Will was special and he was all Hannibal’s to possess.

Hannibal knew that like himself, this demon would be drawn to Will like a moth to the irresistible flame. He only had to wait and so that is what he did, watching from a dark corner of Will’s room. His vessel slept on restlessly, tossing as he sweated through another night of terror, his dreams as fevered as his brow. He’d feel better after his dose of Hannibal’s blood but that would have to come later.

A coolness swept through the room then. Someone was opening the bedroom window, bringing the night in. A hunched over hooded form slipped inside like the grim reaper. _If only,_ Hannibal thought wistfully. He and death had quite a good understanding, and Hannibal would have found it easy to bargain with him on behalf of Will. Not that he would have had to, Hannibal had marked the house. Death would have known better than to visit such a place.

A much more foolish being then. Hannibal frowned. A rather rude one too. With speed, Hannibal attacked. He moved with such grace that he was but a blur to the naked eye. Once close, he pressed the demonic intruder up against Will’s bedroom wall. The intruder remained completely stoic with his concealed head bent, a smirk curling around the corners of his lips.

“Leave at once,” Hannibal ordered. “Will is my vessel as I have made abundantly clear with the ward’s I have set up around this house.”

The intruder’s head titled upwards and familiar blonde hair came springing into view.

Of course.

“Ah, Hannibal,” the familiar face purred. “Up to your old tricks again, I see.”

Hannibal’s lips pursed. “And you, Mason? Still intent on stirring up trouble, I see.”

“You can’t blame me now. Will is quite a fine specimen of humanity.” Mason’s smile was lecherous as he gazed longingly at the sleeping figure. “His mind is so soft and malleable and with all that demon blood coursing through his veins, it’s almost as if he’s _begging_ to be possessed.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. “You know as well as I the connection that entails between human and demon. He’s not ready for me and he’s certainly not ready for you.”

“Do I hear worry in that cold voice of yours, Hannibal?” Mason tsked. “Don’t you go catching feelings now. Relationships between demons and humans rarely work out.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “You know how it is. They give us their hearts and we can’t help but eat the organ right up.”

Hannibal waved him off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Will is a vessel to me. Nothing more.”

“In that case you won’t mind if I…” Mason trailed off, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Hannibal tightened his grip on Mason’s shoulders. “I’m warning you if you attempt anything untoward I will -”

Mason muttered Latin under his breath and Will jerked in his bed, wheezing.

Hannibal’s eyes flashed black and his fingers descended into sharp claws. All attempts at social niceties were dropped, as he grasped Mason by his hood and flung him across the room. Mason crashed into Will’s bookshelf, causing the books to clatter violently to the floor. Will startled at the sudden noise, wretched from the confines of sleep. He wheezed loudly, clutching at his throat then his stomach. _Organa exprimendum._ A nasty little curse. Will’s organs were being squeezed methodically as if an anaconda had crept up inside him.

“Undo it!” Hannibal growled, voice low. 

“No can do, Hannibal,” Mason grinned wickedly, eyes wide and excited. “You know I’m a Puck and enjoy mischief. I literally live for this.”

Hannibal’s rage grew. A hot red light seared behind his eyes. His lips trembled. The lights started flickering on and off, on and off until the bulbs eventually burst with the pressure, showering the room with broken glass. With a yelp, Mason ducked for cover. The windows started to shudder with the force of a powerful gust of wind that was building in the recesses of the house. Hannibal, quick as lightening, descended on Mason, slashing the layers of his clothes, tearing at his skin. Blood welled beneath his palm, black and sticky, but it was not enough. Mason needed to suffer.

Hannibal sneered. “My life span surpasses your meagre existence by centuries. I have knowledge of tortures you can’t even begin to fathom.” With these words, Hannibal uttered an old favourite curse of his, _ulcere sanguis._ The lesser demon started shaking, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his entire body was alight with flame. His blood was on fire, boiling away at his internal organs, licking its way through every nerve ending.

“If you don’t revoke the enchantment you foolishly cast this instant,” Hannibal hissed, unfazed by the writhing mess beneath him. “I will make you wish that you had never fallen. You think this is awful. This is child’s play to what I plan to do to you.”

“O-organa discoperiet.” Mason coughed out. Will instantly relaxed, gulping in large lung falls of air. Hannibal felt an intense sort of relief that surprised him. He undid his own enchantment and suddenly the two men were outside Will’s home. Hannibal adjusted his clothes, gentlemanly manner back in place.

“One should never challenge a Jikininki, Mason. My kind relish in the devouring of corpses, usually human but I am one who quite enjoys experimenting with my culinary tastes and have on occasion dabbled with demon flesh. Don’t tempt me with yours,” Hannibal’s smile grew toothy at the alarmed look in Mason’s eyes.

“You would never,” Mason laughed uneasily. “Look at me. I’m too lean. All bones. Hardly worth the effort.”

“Leave,” Hannibal warned. “And don’t ever return.”

Mason dusted off his clothes, confidence bruised but not destroyed. He chanced one last glimpse at Will through his bedroom window. Hannibal subtly stepped into his field of vision, blocking him. He was unworthy of even that much. Mason smirked and went to leave but paused at the edge of Will’s property.

“Hannibal,” Mason called out in a sing song voice. “You know he’s fair game if he’s unmarked.”

Hannibal felt irritation at the comment. He rather disliked branding his vessels like cattle. Mason had no such qualms. It was likely the reason he had brought it up. Hannibal had seen him eye Will’s pale cheeks longingly. To sully such perfect skin with the Verger brand. Hannibal shook his head. It was unthinkable.

It wasn’t just the aesthetics of marking that bothered Hannibal. He just didn’t believe his vessels deserved the Lecter name on their skin. However, if branding was what it would take to have other demons leave Will alone then so be it. It would also have the added benefit of strengthening their growing connection and allowing Hannibal to locate Will. Besides if any human should wear his name, it should be Will. But where to put it? Somewhere discreet yet visible. Somewhere that would not mar Will’s natural beauty but accentuate it. The arm perhaps? 

Hannibal quietly shut the door and reentered Will’s room, preparing himself for the act. Those thoughts promptly vanished at the sight of his vessel. Will was sitting with his back pressed against his headboard. His head clasped into his hands as he shook. The air reeked with the scent of sulfur, tart, and it pulsed with warmth.

“My fault. I did this,” he was moaning to himself and rocking back and forth. “I did this and I don’t remember. What else don’t I remember? What else….”

Hannibal looked around the room, noticing the crumpled pile of books, the cracked window and the broken light bulbs. There was also a dent in one of the far walls. _Oh dear._

He couldn’t have Will broken this early on in the possession process. He would never be able to withstand the ritual. At least, that’s what Hannibal told himself. What he failed to admit was that Will losing himself in stress and anxiety did something to his heart. Something he had not even known was possible for him to feel. _Guilt._ Perhaps he had been too hard on Will? He’d isolated his vessel from his work, his friends (if dogs could be counted as such) and the sanctum of sleep, effectively leaving him anchorless. Perhaps if he gave some of his normal routine back, a farce of normalcy...

Will whimpered. Normalcy would have to wait. What Will needed now was comfort. Hannibal glanced around, making sure no other creatures of the night were here to notice what he was about to do. He then increased the warmth in the room and began speaking softly in Latin. Nonsense, really. Some poetry with a few endearments thrown in along with a spell for a goods night sleep. Will relaxed, the tension leaving his body in small increments until he fell fast asleep. He was serene whist unconscious, almost like an angel with his sculpted face and curly brown hair. Hannibal would know, he had met one and set fire to its wings, but that was neither here nor there.

Staring at the pale expanse of Will’s skin, he pondered. Will slept shirtless in his boxers. His skin an open canvas. Hannibal touched his hand to Will’s arm, delicately tracing the outline of the mark and closed his eyes to visualize it. A small circle appeared in the center of Will’s wrist, directly below his hand. It glowed a deep, luminous red. The circle encased the letter L in swooping cursive. It instantly died down, camouflaging almost completely into Will’s skin, until it looked like a beauty spot, a light tea like brown. Hannibal nodded to himself.

It would do.

Now there was no doubt who Will belonged to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're meeting another familiar face from the show. If you've read the prequel, you'll probably have a good idea who.


	5. Rigor Mortis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title meaning: stiffness of death

Will awoke with a yawn, feeling well rested and content for the first time in weeks. He moved to stretch his arms and winced at a twinge of pain. Glancing down, he noticed a strange mark on his wrist. It was dull and barely visible. His first thought was that it was a food stain of some kind. He rubbed at it but it stayed. He tried using soap in the bathroom but it still wouldn’t come off. Huh, weird. Will huffed a sigh of annoyance and let it be, hurriedly getting dressed for work. Jack had finally let him back into the field and he wouldn’t risk being late in case his stubborn boss changed his mind.

While on the drive into work, Will had breakfast which consisted of two aspirin chugged back with black coffee. It failed to soothe the near constant headaches he was getting. He was halfway to the scene when the peculiar feeling started up again. A feeling like he was being watched. It was getting harder to rationalize his paranoia. Harder to keep calm. It would only be a matter of time before he snapped. Shaking away these sombre thoughts, Will focused on the task ahead. A body. A crime scene. His normal. All he had to do was profile it and prove himself to Jack. Should be easy enough.

The body itself was posed inside a usually busy shopping mall. Will dodged around police tape and reporters and beelined for his boss. 

“Thanks, Jack. For this opportunity,” Will said, shaking his hand.

“I’m not usually one to go back on my decisions, but something inside my head this morning said I needed you. I trust that gut instinct.”

“I won’t let you down.”

“I hope so, Will,” Jack said grimly, taking a sip of his own coffee. “For both our sakes.”

They walked together to the crime scene. Somewhere along the way, Will tripped, stumbling, his walk clumsy and uncoordinated. He instantly righted himself though and saved himself a fall or, worse, a stumble into Jack. Odd that, his reflexes weren’t usually that good.

“Someone sure is smiling down on you,” Jack commented.

"Knowing my luck, it's probably Satan," Will snarked.

He glanced around to see if anyone noticed his embarrassing trip. His eyes caught sight of their only witness. She was a tall proud woman who stood as regal as royalty. Her blonde hair was pulled elegantly back into a tight bun. She wore small hoop earrings that dangled when she inclined her head which she seemed to like doing a lot and in a haughty way. Her outfit consisted of a deep mauve shirt that draped open at the arms tucked into a tight black pencil skirt so that she appeared simultaneously open and closed off. It was clear as day that she owned the establishment behind her. A small shop with windchimes in the front proclaiming itself to be in silver shimmering letters “Maurier’s Metaphysical Wares”. The woman refused to budge from her shop’s doorway, even when the agents threatened her with arrest. She kept peering above their heads. Jack and Will walked by her and Will caught snippets of their conversation.

“Threaten if you like. I don’t fear the likes of you,” she said bluntly.

“Look lady, we’re FBI.”

“Exactly. Only men. With what I have seen, what could you possibly do that could frighten me? Now leave me alone. I’m terribly busy and I’m expecting someone.”

“We just need a witness statement and we’ll be out of your hair. You said you saw something. Can you elaborate?”

“I saw his face, but it won’t hold up in court.” She paused. “I saw it in a dream, or was it a vision? It is so hard to tell these days.”

Well, wasn’t that relatable.

“She’s a nut case but at least she’s aware of it,” Jack said.

Will didn’t say anything. He ducked his head, giving her a wide berth. It wasn’t that he disliked mediums and psychics per say, he just didn’t believe in that whole connection with the dead and the ability to read the future thing. He suspected more than a few were empaths like himself, using their read on their client’s emotions to string them along. Shameful, really, but there were worst things people could do. Will was looking at it right now.

“That’s the victim,” Jack said rather redundantly and gestured before them. “You do your thing. I’ll be over there.”

Strung up like a puppet and exhibited in the shop window of a toy shop, was the fresh corpse of a young woman. Will came closer to the glass, gloved hand pressed up against it. It looked like there were hooks in the victim’s skin. The body twitched with rigor mortis. A parody of life. Will flinched away violently, causing his sleeve to ruck up his arm… 

Bedelia’s head snapped into Will’s direction, focusing on his wrist. The mark was like a beckon that called to all sensitive to the preternatural. It glowed in her eyes. A hideous black thing. She instantly forgot what she was saying to the FBI agent speaking to her.

“Gentleman, a moment.” She nodded and rushed towards the marked man. Multiple members of the police force tried to stop her but she dodged around them with surprising grace for someone draped with such heavy clothing.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted Will.

Will’s eyes flickered towards her, startling when he felt thin fingers curl around his wrist. They both flinched at the contact. Will’s arm smarted. 

“My God,” she gasped.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Will said with growing incredibility, moving backwards. _Where the hell did Jack go?_

“Bedelia Du Maurier,” she said, smoothly slipping her hand from Will’s wrist to his palm for a firm handshake. “I need to speak with you immediately.” Bedelia’s gaze darted down to his wrist. “It’s an emergency.”

Will frowned. “If this is about the murder, you’ve got the wrong man. I can direct you to Jack Crawford though. He’s right over there.”

He pointed at Jack. Bedelia flinched as the outstretched limb and its demonic mark came closer to her head. She took a step back and made the sign of the cross.

Will eyed her. “Do you need some sort of help? We’ve got mental health plans for witnesses.”

“I need to talk to you privately,” Bedelia’s mouth pursed as she gestured towards the mark. “About _that.”_

“Oh, this?” Will laughed it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“Foolish man!” Bedelia snapped. “That is the mark of evil!”

And with that, she glanced furtively around, grabbing onto Will’s other arm and dragging him bodily towards her store.

“Hey,” Will said. “Hey!”

He wanted to pull away, but he was scared that if he did, she would make a scene. There were too many witnesses around. All it would take was one wrong move and Jack would have Will suspended again.

When they reached her shop’s doorway, she visibly relaxed. “We should be safe from uninvited guests here.”

Will raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Look, I really don’t believe in all that fortune teller stuff so if you have nothing else to say, I best be off.”

“I'm not here to speak of the future, but rather the present, though I can do both. My matters are of a medium nature.”

“A medium nature?” Will said slowly.

“Demonic energies,” she elaborated.

“The supernatural?” Will asked wryly.

“From your tone, I take it I was correct in my assumption that you are sceptical.”

Will snorted. “Sceptical would be an understatement.”

“Surely you have noticed strange things happening around you?” Bedelia pressed on with determination. “Things you can’t easily explain away. Objects flying about, frightened pets, blackouts, a feeling of being watched.”

Will’s mouth parted in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. “So, what? You think I’ve got a ghost. Let me guess. It’s a great grandmother I’ve never met that’s been trying to contact me. She wants to give me her homemade recipe for apple pie.”

“This is no joking matter, Will Graham.”

“How do you know my name?” Will asked sharply.

“I know more than that. I know we were fated to meet today. I have seen you in my future. I have seen _your_ future and it’s full of much pain and darkness.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “That’s kind of always been my life. I’m a criminal profiler with empathy. Something you would know if you read about me online. A fan of Tattle Crime, are you?”

“I assure you, I have never heard of this Tattle Crime.”

“Bullshit,” Will snarled. “I’m done with this. Leave me alone. Try conning someone else.”

“I’m not conning you,” she said with such vehemency that Will focused intently on her.

“You believe what you’re saying.” He softened then. “But that doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“By that logic, that doesn’t mean I’m wrong either. A moment of your time, please, Will.”

Will sighed heavily. “Alright, I’ll hear you out. If you promise to leave me alone once you’re done.”

“Deal.” Bedelia took a deep breath and said bluntly. “I’m greatly educated on matters of the supernatural. And demons, well, let’s just say that knowledge is particularly intimate and personal. There’s no easy way to say this, Will, but you bare the mark of a very old and powerful demon,” this was said solemnly, as though she were delivering a death sentence.

“Oh.” Will blinked as understanding finally dawned on him. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not,” Bedelia smiled and it was a brittle and miserable thing. “Sometimes I wish I was though. Then all these horrors would only be in my mind.”

Those last words hit too close to home for Will.

“I only wish to help you,” Bedelia pleaded.

Will scoffed, but his voice faltered. “Yeah, right. How much will that cost me?”

“My help will be free of charge.”

“What do you get out of this little arrangement then?”

“Vengeance,” Bedelia said darkly.

“Look, you need to back off.” Will warned, holding up a protective hand as she attempted to follow him. “That was our deal. I listened. Now go.”

“This isn’t a regular demon problem. There’s only one survivor from the Lecter bloodline and his name is Hannibal,” Bedelia’s voice went bitter momentarily like the very name tasted bad in her mouth. “He’s centuries old and has a penchant for human possession among other vile things... He’s very dangerous. Please, I’m your only hope.”

Will covered his ears with his hands. His traitorous mind was whirling. It kept flashing back to those terrifying black eyes in his bathroom mirror.

“You’re out of your mind,” but whether he was saying it to himself or Bedelia, he didn’t know. 

“He’s preparing you, Will,” Bedelia warned ominously. “You’re to be his bridge into this world.”

Fuck this, fuck mediums and fuck Jack. If Jack wanted Will to solve a crime, he should have done a better job of barring the public from it, especially mediums. Will had thought psychiatrists were the bane of his existence but he was amending that now. He’d choose Frederick Chilton any day over this woman. And her misplaced pity. And her wild theories. Her wild theories that were making wild sense.

Will spun on his heels and walked away.

“You know where to find me, Will. When he becomes a nuisance, remember, you’re always welcome at my shop,” Bedelia called after him.

Will’s quick walk turned into a jog and then a mad sprint for his car. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and speed away yet no matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t escape the fears that haunted him.


End file.
